


Get To Heaven (is an underrated album)

by TheOpeningScene



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Car Chases, Cop Sleep | Remy Sanders, Criminal Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Deceit Is Called "Dee", Deceit is trying his best, Detective Logic | Logan Sanders, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Minor Violence, Morally Neutral Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Morally Neutral Deceit Sanders, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, but it is a really important plot point sooo, hes a stinky boi but i love him, i didnt want to tag the Anxceit cuz its super not the focus, oh and Remus is canadian for the sake of one joke in ch. 1, rated for Remus, thats right stuff gets a little dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOpeningScene/pseuds/TheOpeningScene
Summary: “DRIVE!” The person yelled as they slammed the door shut. Dee only caught a glimpse of manic green eyes, frayed mousy hair, and a dainty mustache before a warm hand grabbed him by the chin and turned his head to look at the road. “DRIVE NOW, OGLE LATER!!”-In which Dee assists in the kidnapping of his own person, and things only escalate from there.





	1. The Wheel (Is Turning Now)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my 2019-2020 campaign to unvillainify Deceit and Remus. Because they may be evil garbage boys, but they're our evil garbage boys.
> 
> *The album this fic is named after is Get To Heaven by Everything Everything. Each chapter will be named after one of the songs on the album. Why? Because it's a killer album, duh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Chapter Titles:  
How To Get Mad Dee  
Be Gay, Do Crime, Stay Alive, Etc.  
Dee, You Absolute Madlad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The title of this chapter and the lyrics used are from The Wheel (Is Turning Now) by Everything Everything

[ He laid his hands upon me ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F8N4hwD5E4)

[ He took ahold of my life ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F8N4hwD5E4)

[ The terror and the old blood screech ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F8N4hwD5E4)

[ When you mix those colours something's gonna happen ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F8N4hwD5E4)

*~*~*

Dee wasn’t doing to hot, in all honesty.

And that was a big thing for Dee to admit. He wasn’t exactly the most honest person. It was part of the reason he **didn’t** feel like total shit right now.

Oh, god dammit. There he fucking goes again. Lying. It’s **not **a habit.

Dee gripped the steering wheel of his car, letting his forehead fall against it with a defeated _ thump _. Why couldn’t he just learn already? No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up alone, with less of him left than when he started. Society chewed him up and spit him out more times than he’d like to admit. If he were paranoid, he’d think that the world was purposely out to get him. But to lie, you must first know the truth. And the truth is simple: it wasn’t that society was built to torture him, it was that he was to broken and mangled to fit into society.

Dee thought he found it this time. _ Happiness _ . He tried so, _ so _ hard to hold onto it. He held so tight, it choked to death in his grip.

Or maybe he was just being pessimistic. Losing your job, your apartment, and your boyfriend in the same afternoon does that to a man.

Dee was parked haphazardly on the side of the road, a couple blocks from his old apartment, old boyfriend, old life. Dee had stormed out into the street and then into his car, rage fueling him for about five minutes down the road until he felt too nauseous to drive. Now he…

He didn’t know what came next. He couldn’t go back and beg for forgiveness, beg to be taken back. He’d be accused of _ lying _ . Maybe he would be lying. **Nobody knew.**

He supposes he’d just have to keep moving. Get a new job. Find a new apartment. He would probably be living out of his car for a while until he could find a place. Preferably somewhere across town. Maybe he’d even move towns. **Would** be the first time.

Dee was so lost in his own head, he didn’t even hear the sirens until something slammed heavily into the passenger door of his car, rattling the entire vehicle.

“What--!” Dee only managed to get out a syllable as his passenger door was yanked open, and _ someone _ threw themselves into the car beside him.

“DRIVE!” The person yelled as they slammed the door shut. Dee only caught a glimpse of manic green eyes, frayed mousy hair, and a dainty mustache before a warm hand grabbed him by the chin and turned his head to look at the road. “DRIVE NOW, OGLE LATER!!”

Dejected, resentful, and with the new addition of a crazy stranger in his car, Dee did the first and only thing he could think to do in that exact moment.

He hit the gas.

  


In all of a minute, the police sirens got much louder, the car went from zero to fifty on a twenty-five, and Dee gained his common sense back.

“What the fuck?!” Dee yelled at his unwarranted passenger, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He didn’t dare even _ glance _ at him. That would cross the possibility off the list that this was some stress-induced fever dream. Somehow, the idea that Dee had finally cracked was more preferable than the cold, hard reality of there being a _ stranger _ in his _ car _.

“Turn right up ahead.” This no doubt felonious man responded casually, as if he hadn’t just _ hitched a ride in Dee’s car _ and was now _ digging through his fucking dashboard. _

“Who are you?! Hey, listen to me--” Dee’s complaints were overlapped with his perpetrator’s own complaint as he tore a handful of Wendy’s napkins from the bottom of the dashboard.

“Why don’t you have a gun?”

“What--” Dee made a right at an intersection. He wasn’t even paying attention to the speed meter anymore. All he could see was the road in front of him. All he could hear was the sirens blaring behind his skull. All he could feel was the adrenaline. “Why the fuck would I have a gun?!”

“I don’t know! You’re an american!”

Dee was so caught up in his offense that he didn’t notice the police cruiser pulling up in front of him until he was only a mile away, the distance only shortening.

His entire body reacted. Dee threw all his weight into jerring the steering wheel to the right, and in that same moment, slammed the breaks so hard he felt the impact in his jaw. The car nearly tipped over as it turned a full ninety degrees, landing almost parallel to the police cruiser.

“Oh my god,” Dee breathed out shakily. He felt like he was on _ fire _ . “That was **not** the craziest thing I have ever done.”

Dee was startled out of his stupor by a volley of shrill, gasping noises. He flinched away from and snapped his head towards the noise all at once, further aggravating his lightheadedness.

He was met with sharp canines twisted devilishly into a wide, open smile. He was met with dark eyeshadow that made electric green eyes pop from their sockets. He was met with choked, shrieking _ laughter _ that shredded his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard.

Dee was met with the most beautiful, most _ terrifying _ man he had ever laid eyes on.

A shiver **did not** run down his spine when the man gripped his shoulder, using Dee as leverage to catch his breath.

“That was amazing!” He exclaimed between desperate gasps for oxygen, joshling Dee a little in his seat. “Where’d you learn to drive like that, Two-Face?”

“**Somewhere, apparently.**” Dee couldn’t help but preen under the praise, a smile threatening to claim his lips. He didn’t even mind the jabbing nickname given because of his disfigurement.

The moment was short lived, however. The two police cruisers that had been chasing them pulled up side by side on the road, blocking Dee’s car from escaping. They’d driven further into residential area, so the two sides not covered by police were boxed in by houses.

“Oh, pooey.” The man in Dee’s passenger seat said, eyebrows turning down slightly. Was he pouting?

_ Pooey indeed. _ “We are so **not** fucked.”

The man’s, who had _ definitely _ been pouting, face lit up at Dee’s words.

“Right!” The man began to roll down the car window. “We just need to improvise a little! Follow my lead.”

Someone had exited one of the two police cruisers on the side of the street the passenger door was facing, and Dee had to lean forward to get a good look at them. The officer was a man, looking pretty indistinguishable from what you’d expect, with brown hair, an average height, and dark shades obscuring his eyes. He looked nothing special.

Dee waited for the officer to come and approach his car, but he kept his distance. Interesting. Did they think the man was carrying a weapon? Or where they just that afraid of what he might do?

Once the window was all the way rolled down, the man sat up on his knees to stick the entire top half of his torso out the window and yell at the officer.

“GOOD MORNING REMY!” Dee’s passenger waved at the officer wildly. Dee couldn’t see the man’s face, but if he had to bet on it, he’d put his money on a wide grin.

The officer - Remy? - fiddled with a megaphone for a few seconds, before raising it to his mouth.

“It’s midafternoon, Remus.” Came the crackly reply over the megaphone. Although it was hard to tell, Dee would describe Remy’s voice as _ exasperated _ . “More specifically, it’s 3:13. That’s thirteen minutes past my break, Remus. That’s about seven hours and _ thirteen minutes _ without coffee. You better have a damn good reason you’re impeaching on my right for a caramel frappuccino, or honey, you’ve got a _ big _ storm comin’.”

The man - Remus? _ Remus. _In that moment, Dee wanted nothing more than to taste the name on his lips. Before he could dare utter a syllable, though, Remus was yelling again.

“I STOLE SOMETHING!!” Remus said, brimming with enthusiasm. No shame, no guilt. Like he’d been waiting to tell Remy just that for a while now.

Interesting.

Even with the distance and the shades in the way, Dee could tell Remy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that dumbshi--”

Remy’s voice was cut off as the megaphone was roughly pulled from his hands by another officer who emerged from the other cruiser. The difference between them was great. While Remy wore the standard blue, this guy was in a long, dark coat and tie. It was hard to tell from this distance, but Dee was sure the guy was pretty angular, square-ish jaw and sharp cheekbones, blocky glasses sat securely on the bridge of his nose. He looked all business and no play, the scowl plastered on his face as he raised the megaphone not at all helping his case.

“Mr. Kingsman.” The officer, possibly a detective, regarded Remus coolly through the megaphone.

“HEY LOGAN!” Remus waved at Logan with just as much vigor as he did Remy, if not more. “YOU FOUND A NEW PARTNER YET?”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” Logan dismissed. He didn’t waste any time in asking; “Have you injured the hostage?”

...Hostage? Was Dee a hostage? By definition, he supposes he was. He definitely didn’t feel like a hostage, though.

Shit, should Dee be _ scared _ ? Remus was obviously some sort of dangerous criminal, so much so that the officers on duty were well acquainted with him. Should Dee be struggling, screaming, attempting to escape? Was Remus going to hurt him? _ Kill him? _

Would he _ mind _?

That’s a dumb question. Of course he would.

Remus leaned back into the car, met Dee’s eyes for a second, before answering Logan flatly.

“NO.”

“I would like to hear it from the hostage, Mr. Kingsman.” Logan said patiently, as if talking to a child.

Dee didn’t even think before leaning over Remus to answer.

“OH **YES** , I AM **VERY** INJURED!” Dee yelled across the distance in mock woe. “ **PLEASE** OFFICERS, **SAVE** ME FROM THIS MANIAC! MY WEAK, **INNOCENT** HEART CAN’T TAKE THIS **ABUSE** NO LONGER!”

Remus stares at Dee, blinks several times, before erupting into a fit of giggles.

“THAT’S RIGHT!” Remus chirps at Logan as he yells over the distance. “I’VE ALREADY TORTURE HIS POOR SOUL BEYOND RECOGNITION!”

“MY SOUL!” Dee wails in turn.

“FOR EVERY SECOND HE HESITATED AT THAT STEERING WHEEL, ANOTHER FINGERNAIL WAS TORN FROM HIS HAND!!”

“SO PAINFUL!”

“I WOULD HAVE KILLED HIM ALREADY IF HE WASN’T VERY FUCKABLE!”

“HOW CRUEL-- wait, _ what? _”

But Remus was no longer paying attention. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Logan, who had shoved the megaphone back into Remy’s hands and was making a beeline _ straight for Dee’s car. _

“Whoops!” Remus sat himself back fully into the passenger seat, facing Dee. “We gotta go!”

“What do you want me to do? The road **isn’t** completely blocked off!”

Remus looked at Dee expectantly.

_ “What?” _

Remus sighed as if it was obvious. He then leaned over the centermantle, almost obscuring Dee’s vision completely as he gripped the steering wheel in both hands.

“Just hit the gas!” Remus yelled in his ear.

“What--”

“HIT THE GAS, HARVEY DENT!”

Dee slammed his foot on the pedal, accelerating to forty miles per hour straight towards the front door of a quaint suburban home.

Right before impact, Remus wrenched the steering wheel towards himself, merging the car in between houses, and driving straight over a white picket fence.

Dee’s hands found the wheel again, and Remus’ hands found Dee. He felt sharp nails sinking into his shoulder as they knocked down fence after fence in their spree through several backyards and gardens.

Dee wasn’t sure what was louder: his screams, Remus’ laughter, or the newly returning sirens.

An eternity later, Dee’s car emerged onto another road, and he wasted no time in skidding onto it.

In a moment of clarity, Dee became acutely aware of the man clinging to his chest. Remus’ face was tucked into Dee’s neck, hot breath ghosting his skin as Remus giggled wildly. Dee looked down at him, and Remus looked up, and there was something so bright and earnest in those manic green eyes.

Remus smiled up at Dee like he was the most brilliant thing he’d ever seen. Dee **wasn’t** surprised when he offered back a small smile of his own.

A loud honk pulled him from his revere. Dee had driven them onto the highway, just missing a head collision with a pacing car.

Oh, right. They were still being pursued by the authorities.

Remus tore himself away from Dee, and he did **not** shiver at the lack of warmth against his side. Dee trained his attention back on the road, focusing on dodging cars as they sped down the freeway. They’d already gotten this far, it’d be a shame if they got into a crash now all because Dee was distracted.

When had Dee started thinking of them as a team? When had Dee just _ accepted _ that there was no option but to go along with his unwarranted passenger?

He forced the thoughts from his head. Focus now, question later.

Remus had been looking around wildly, supposedly trying to gauge how fucked they were from the amount and proximity of police cruisers chasing after them.

“This would be so much easier if I had a gun!” Remus exclaimed, frustrated. “Or maybe nails! Have any nails?” Remus accompanied the question with a jab to Dee’s stomach, causing him to jump and nearly drive straight into a car that was in front of them.

“What are you talking about?” Dee hissed angrily, willing the car to go faster. The sirens were getting louder. “Don’t you have a plan to lose these guys?!”

“Uh…” Remus pauses a second. “Not if living is a requirement.”

Dee cursed under his breath as he narrowly slide his way between two cars. The traffic was getting denser.

The police were gaining, and fast. No chance of outdriving them, especially with what looked like a pretty thick traffic jam coming up. There was another highway heading the opposite direction directly parallel to where they were driving, but unless they got _ extremely _ lucky, there was no chance Dee could jump that road guard--

….Or maybe he wouldn’t have too.

“I can **totally** believe I’m about to do this,” Dee muttered as he took a sharp turn off the road, up the edge of a concrete wall that framed the progression of a hill along the road. The car bounced and groaned as two of it’s wheels ran across the wall, and the other two shredded through the grass on the hill. The angle the car leaned was not consistent in the slightest, knocking them around like pinballs as he drove. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Remus yelled beside him, frantically hitting Dee on the arm. He was pressed up against the window, stuck in the space between the seat and the door. Serves him right for not wearing a seatbelt.

“**I’ve got it covered!**” Dee hissed back.

Dee wish he could see Remus’ face when he laughed and said, “Well keep it up, because I’m _ lovin’ _ it!!”

The block of traffic passed below them, and after a while, the sirens started to get farther and farther away.

From his peripheral, Dee could see Remus had hauled himself into his seat again, looking out the back window. One hand on the steering wheel, Dee reached up and pulled Remus back into a proper position.

“Sit down and strap in! This is going to be a **smoot**h landing.”

Then Dee made the **best, smartest** judgement call he’s probably ever made in his life.

Dee jerked the steering wheel to the left, and the car drove off the hill and off the concrete wall.

They went sailing through the air, and for a sharp moment, Dee felt absolutely weightless, all except for the warm weight of a hand gripping his forearm. He, strangely enough, felt like he could breath. He felt himself smiling.

Then they hit the ground.

The impact rattled through Dee’s entire body. Everything went momentarily black, and when he could see again, the car was still skidding down the road with ungodly speeds.

Beside him, Remus whooped. 

“My buns are going to be bruised after this one!”

With a shaky breath, Dee seized the steering wheel.

Keep driving.

_ Stay alive. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) Okay YES I know they’re a LITTLE out-of-character, but they be wildin’, can you blame me?? Also they need character growth so it’s either this or some stagnant shit. But for those thoroughly disappointed in the lack of dialogue Remus has (you know I am), don’t worry, Dee won’t be the ONLY one getting a mouthful of Remus very soon ;)
> 
> 2.) Anyways, that out of the way, I had SO MUCH FUN writing this, you have no idea. My process was quite literally just a “yes and” back and forth with myself. I have a rough plan for future chapters (I’ve already set up some foreshadowing to it in this one), but in all honesty, I have no idea what wacky shit is ahead.
> 
> 3.) HEY LOGAN! (**Definitely** not going to be seeing him again anytime soon.)
> 
> 4.) This chapter took me roughly two weeks to make? And that was only because of school work in between it all. I plan to update this roughly every one or two weeks, depending on how fast I’m writing these. No promises though, completely subject to change.
> 
> That’s it! Thanks for reading!! See you next chapter!!


	2. Spring/Sun/Winter/Dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Titles:  
That’s Not Very Sympathetic Of You  
Hitchhiker’s Guide To Gay Shit  
Wait, Is This Stockholm’s Syndrome?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The title of this chapter and lyrics used are from Spring/Sun/Winter/Dread by Everything Everything
> 
> Trigger warnings: manipulative relationship  
*(skip the italicized section of text at the beginning and check the endnotes for a summary if you’re not comfortable with it)  
And also Remus being, well…Remus. But y’all signed up for that one.

[ You are a thief and a murderer too ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_dImN4Vnkg)

[ Stole the face that you wear from a craven baboon ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_dImN4Vnkg)

[ 'Cause you did it to her, and you did it to him ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_dImN4Vnkg)

[ And you did it before and you'll do it again ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_dImN4Vnkg)

*~*~*

_ “You’re sick, Dee. You need help.” _

_ Virgil sounded so much stronger than he looked. He huddled against the counter, arms wrapped tightly against his chest, sinking into the sweater he’s owned longer than Dee’s known him. _

_ His voice is glass, sharp but fragile, clear in its accusation. _

_“Oh give it a break, Virgil. What's that even mean?” Something dark and ugly bubbles in Dee’s stomach, and he’s going to be sick. Virgil’s _afraid_ of him. Why is Virgil afraid of him? “_**_I’m not--_** you’re _the sick one, if anything.”_

_ Virgil jumps at Dee’s tone, takes a half step back, doesn’t meet his eyes. His eyes are big, they’ve always been so big, staring off at nothing, and his hands are shaking, and Dee’s stomach twists violently. _

_ “You know exactly what I mean,” Virgil’s voice breaks. He clenches his fists, jerks his eyes level to Dee’s, teeth grinding together, “You can’t-- you have _ no _ right to cut me off like that--” _

_ “You’re friends are asshole! YOU said they were assholes--” _

_ “I KNOW WHAT I SAID, OKAY?” Glass shards, hundreds of shards, they sink into Dee’s skin, and he’s bleeding, oh god he’s bleeding, “But that doesn’t mean you get too, too _ hide _ my phone--” _

** _“I didn’t hide it--”_ **

_ “Oh, come on--!” _

** _“I DIDN’T!”_ ** _ It’s petty, it’s wrong, it’s cruel, but Dee’s relieved when Virgil flinches at his volume. He just. He just needs some control. He can fix this if he’s just given some control. “And even if I did, what does it matter? Why are you making such a big deal out of this? It’s just a phone.” _

_ “Why am I--” Virgil is shocked, incredulous. Dee knows because his shoulders are low, but still painfully tense. “Because...cause it...is a big deal...” _

_ Virgil’s voice trails off weakly, eyes darting away. Dee can breath again. It’s going to be okay. All that’s left is some damage control. _

_ “You don’t sound so sure about that, do you?” Dee takes a step forward, fully expecting Virgil to flinch away again, but he doesn’t. _

_ “...” Virgil takes a breath like he’s going to say something, but let the words hang in the back of his throat. _

** _“You’re being over emotional, Virgil.”_ ** _ Dee reassures, taking another step, planting a hand carefully on Virgil’s arm. He does flinch this time, but it’s small. _

_ Virgil murmurs something under his breath. Dee smiles. “What was that?” _

_ “I said--” Virgil steps forward, smacks Dee’s hand off his arm, explodes into a thousand glass pieces, “Get the FUCK out.” _

_ “What--” _

_ “I am sick, Dee! I’m fucking SICK of you and you’re shit!” Virgil’s voice is shrill, and when he takes a step forward, Dee takes one back. “You’re a sick, manipulative snake, now GET OUT!” _

*

There’s a duffel bag at Remus’ feet.

He must have brought it in when he burst into the car, Dee reasoned. Dee had failed initially to notice the existence of this duffel bag, but now that he has, he was fixated on it.

_ What was in it? _ Surely it has something to do with the crime Remus committed. He did steal something, after all. But Remus hasn’t so much as acknowledged the existence of the bag since this all began. It just sat there, under his boots.

Dee was sure he could’ve come up with countless possibilities to what might be in the bag, if he could _ fucking hear himself think. _

“Uh-huh. Yeah.” Dee nodded along to whatever Remus was saying. He hasn’t stopped talking since they left the city limits. At first Dee thought it was leftover adrenaline from the car chase, but Remus just kept jumping from topic to topic like gunfire. He never seemed to shut up. Dee **wasn’t necessarily scared** of what Remus might do if he told him to shut the fuck up. **He just considered himself a polite man.**

Luckily, Remus didn’t seem to smart either, so it looked like Dee could get away with zoning out as Remus chattered on and on. Not that zoning out was much help anyways. Somethings Remus said the wildest shit.

“--Oh I know! Let’s play 20 Questions!”

Case in point.

“20 Questions?” Dee sighed. “What is this, a first date?”

“Weeeell, usually I skip first dates and get right to the fun stuff.” Remus shimmies his shoulders, the frills on his ridiculous top shaking. What the fuck was he even wearing? “But I’ll go slow, just for you.”

Dee rolled his eyes, turning his face away to hide the--**nothing. He was hiding nothing.**

“My turn,” Remus announces, pretending as if he’s deciding what to ask. “What’s your name?” He asks in a rush, leans into Dee’s space to watch his mouth form the syllable.

**“Dee.”** Dee answers easily.

“Dee…” Remus leans back again, rolling the syllable in his mouth. “Seems fishy. What’s it short for?”

“Isn’t it my turn?” Dee asks.

“Yes. Now, what’s it short for?”

Damn, this guy was good.

**“Deandra.”**

Remus laughs. 

*

“You like jazz?” Remus asked, eyebrows raised.

They’ve been on the road for a little over an hour. They surpassed twenty questions a long time ago. Despite all the sexual, invasive, and downright cringing questions Remus insisted on getting answers for, Dee didn’t mind all that much.

“Yes, actually.”

“How dreamy.” Remus coos, swooning so far to the side his elbows slip from where they rested on the center mantel. He scrambled awkwardly to gain his balance again.

Dee barked out a laugh. He wasn’t sure yet if Remus’ insisted flirting and constant clowning were jokes or not. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. Or that it mattered.

“I didn’t think you’d like a man with class.” Dee teased.

“I hadn’t realized you had any class to begin with.”

“What’s that even mean?”

“We seem to have a lot in common, is all.”

Now that _ really _ made Dee laugh.

“We do! Look,” Remus grabbed one of Dee’s hands from the steering wheel, holding it up by the index and ring fingers for Dee to see. “Look! Look! We each have five fingers, and--” Remus dropped Dee’s hand, folding himself in half to take off his boot and hold a naked, sockless foot up to Dee. “Feet!”

“REMUS!” Dee shrieked, the car swerving. “Get that out of my fucking face!!”

"What?? The feet not doing it for you, baby?" Remud wiggled his toes. God, the smell was _ putrid _.

**"I'm going to kill you."**

*

“--so this guy is a total hulk, right? Like, he could totally step on me, and I’d let him, and the whole stereotypical prison look was _ very _sexy if not extremely terrifying--”

“Remus,” Dee sighed.

“_ Anyways _, this guy pulls out a twisted up shank on me, and I could tell he’d definitely stabbed some people before, like there was dried blood on that thing, probably had a necklace of teeth trophies or something, or that’s what I’d do if I was going around stabbing people, although--”

_ “Remus.” _

“So he gets me right in the stomach--”

“Oh, please.” Dee rolls his eyes. “**Totally believable, **surviving getting stabbed."

“If you keep interrupting I’m going to scream.” Remus whines. “And yes, I did. Twice.” Remus crosses his arms. “I have the scars to prove it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Remus grunts as he finds room to stretch his arms to pull of his shirt. Dee curses, nearly swerving off the road.

“See?” Remus says, puffing out his chest, using the hand not holding his balled-up shirt to point at his stomach. “Right in the tummy. Nearly died. Had to get surgery for all the internal bleeding.”

Dee, seeing as the road ahead is flat for miles, takes his eyes off it to look at Remus.

Remus’ collar bone is unfairly sharp. His chest is covered in dark curly hairs, spread about in uneven patches. He’s sickly thin, ribs sticking sharply out his sides.

Dee is torn between wanting to run his fingers through those sporadic hairs, and getting the poor man a hot meal. Maybe both, if he’s lucky.

Dee looks down to where Remus is pointing and-- “Holy shit.”

A long, stark-white scar runs from his belly button to below his ribs, straight and clean except for a large knot near the top.

Remus touches the knot with a little _ boop. _ “Stitches reopened during the prison break a month or two later. Blood" Remus made a little "spshhh" sound as he animated with his hands blood spraying from the scar. "everywhere. Had to patch it up myself.” He trails his finger down the scar, and even though he stops at the center of the scar, Dee’s eyes keep going south. “If you look closely enough, you can see the original stab wound…”

It takes several shameless seconds for Dee to realise Remus is no longer talking. His eyes flicker back to Remus face, and he’s met with a manic grin.

“See something you like?”

**“No.”** Dee says sharply, immediately, eyes back on the road.

Remus laughs. “Anyways, my turn.”

“You just asked a question.”

Remus thinks a minute. “Damn, okay. Shoot me.”

*

“Oooooh come on, Dee! Please tell me?”

“No.”

“But I’ve been a good boy, haven’t I, Daddy?”

“Stop.”

“But I need to know you’re dark backstory!” Remus whines and pouts. “Was it the fire that killed your parents when you were just a boy? Fell in a vat of horrific acid??" Remus gasps. “Or were you born with it, and you were left on the step of the orphanage, growing up shunned and rejected, destined to become the disfigured, ugly monster they thought you were!”

Something dark and ugly bubbles in Dee’s stomach. “Seriously Remus, drop it.”

Remus is silent for a moment, but just when Dee begins to breathe again, Remus grabs him by the face roughly, twisting his head to get a good look at the mangled, mared half of his face.

The car swerves, Dee wrenches his face from Remus’ grip, and hits the breaks with enough force that when they stop in the middle of the road, burnt rubber lingers in the air.

Dee’s breathing heavy. He’s going to be sick.

“What’s in the duffel bag, Remus?”

“...What?”

Dee glares at him. “What’s in the duffel bag.”

Remus doesn’t answer.

*

They’d been driving again for about twenty minutes, stopped to get gas and snacks at an exit, and were back on the road before Remus dared to say anything.

“For the record,” he starts, and Dee can’t read his tone. “I don’t think you’re ugly. Or a monster.”

It shouldn’t mean as much as it does, coming from someone like him.

*

The sun is setting.

“What’s your family like?” Remus asked sleepily. He’s been yawning for the past hour, and it’s got Dee yawning, and he doesn’t like yawning. Makes him feel undignified.

Dee gets the feeling Remus is really asking how he got this fucked up, what put him in the mindset to be able to go along with things like this, like dangerous criminals with mysterious duffel bags and prison stab wounds.

“Don’t have one.” Dee answers easily. He sees no point in lying. He never does, not with this.

Remus just nods his head.

“What about you?”

Remus blinks slowly, lifting his head slightly from where it’d been leaning against the window. He never did put his shirt back on, but maybe it was for the best, considering how high Dee had the heat cranked up right now.

For the first time, Remus acknowledges the existence of the duffel bag at his feet, nudging it slightly, curling his toes around one of the handles on its side (he took off both of his boots a while ago, despite much protest from Dee).

“I guess I don’t have much of one either.”

*

Remus has been staring at him. Silently. For the past ten minutes.

At first, Dee had thought he’d fallen asleep, Remus was so quiet. But when he glanced over he was met with two bugged out green eyes, watching him carefully.

“What?” Dee finally snapped, shifting uncomfortably.

“Why do you drive like that?” Dee couldn’t get a read on Remus’ tone.

“Like what?”

“Like we’re still being chased.” Remus tipped his head to the side, still watching. “Like we’re still in danger, or, or it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

“Was that a threat?” Dee forced his eyes to keep on the road. He didn’t understand what Remus was saying, but still felt...interrogated.

“And you blink like that too.” Remus continued conversationally. “Fast. Afraid you might never open your eyes again.”

Dee gripped the steering wheel. He was tired, and Remus was getting on the last of his nerves.

“It’s very fun to watch.”

*

It’s 10:30 when Dee finally pulls over into a motel.

They’re both exhausted, or at least Dee is, and all he wants to do is curl up in a warm bed.

“I won’t be able to afford a double.” Dee says as they’re walking to the front entrance.

“I’m certainly not complaining” Remus winks as he opens the door for Dee.

The inside it exactly what’d you’d expect a dingy motel off the only exit for miles to look like. It looks like it was pulled right out of the 90s, and the old radio playing some country hit wrapped the whole thing up.

The woman at the counter looks up from beneath her glasses, glances down at the newspaper she’s reading, then immediately looks up again to stare at Dee’s face.

Dee sighs.

“Any vacant rooms?” He asks.

The woman takes a moment to pick up her dropped jaw. “Single or double?”

“Single.”

The woman finally tears her eyes from Dee’s face, if only to eye Remus. “Name?”

Dee doesn’t hesitate. **“Adrian Phillips.”**

The woman writes something into the book on her desk, and trades off Dee’s bundle of cash for a key from a little cubby behind the desk. “Room 204, stairs on the other side of the parking lot.”

“Thank you.”

“Is your name actually Adrian?” Remus asks as they exit into the parking lot.

“No,” Dee chuckles. **“It’s Damien Wright.”**

“Really?”

“Ah, sorry, my bad. **I meant David Parker.**”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Remus pouts as he follows Dee up the shaky metal stairs.

*

Now that Dee was (for the most part) alone, he had time to think.

It didn’t take to long to realize he didn’t like the thoughts his head was cooking up.

From where Dee lays on the dingy motel mattress, he can only see the rough popcorn ceiling, covered with a water stain or two. There’s a radio in the room Remus had fiddled with as soon as they came in, and played softly in Dee’s right ear. In his left, the steady buzz of the small shower near the entrance.

And as the full extent to his situation dawns on him for maybe the first time, it’s not panic that trails behind it; it’s confusion. Mind boggling, headache-ing confusion.

Dee has been assisting in the fleeing of a known criminal. If what said criminal said it true, this guy has a long history of crime, imprisonment, and his inevitable escape. He also has the capability to hurt Dee. He has yet to threaten any bodily harm to Dee, but he has proven himself to be impulsive.

(He is also sexy, but in a rat kinda way. But that is neither here nor there.)

Dee doesn’t know where this criminal is going, what he did to get the police on his ass, or what the fuck is in that duffel bag. 

**Yet he’s not fucking scared.**

Okay, he’s a little scared. Terrified, even. But he’s not _ panicked. _ If anything, Dee feels more in control than he has in a long, long time.

And he likes that. He really, really likes that.

_ But that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, _ he reasons. That doesn’t make this situation any less batshit insane.

He helped this criminal get this far. He payed for the hotel. Pity he couldn’t give him a proper meal, but Dee’s not a charity. He’ll book it in the a.m.’s, and everything will go back to regular scheduled programming.

Dee releases only then he doesn’t have much in way of regular scheduled programming.

**Well, it’ll be better than whatever this is.**

Safer, at least.

*

Remus drools in his sleep. He also snores, and if Dee hadn’t been so exhausted, he’d have found it immensely annoying.

He supposed though he himself was not the best bedmate either, however. When he woke up (he set his alarm on vibrate for 5 a.m., and placed it beneath his pillow) Dee wasn’t too shocked to discover he’d stolen all the blankets on the bed, caccooning himself tightly in them. Luckily, Remus didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Didn’t even look cold.

**It’s not a big deal, really.** Deceit has nothing to bring with him, only himself. Realistically, all he has to do is get out of the room without waking Remus, get in his car, and leave. He’ll go back into town, get into his old apartment when Virgil is at work, grab his shit, and skip town. It’s the safest option.

(And whether or not he plans to go to the police is **completely irrelevant.** Dee has never liked police anyways, so what does it matter. Tools of the state and all.)

Dee doesn’t look back when he exits the motel room.

He does hesitate, however.

*

Dee knew he wasn’t a good person.

He knew he was… _ creative _ in the way he dealt with people, with situations. He will admit this to himself, because to trick himself into thinking what he does and why he does it would only disadvantage him in the long run.

But that doesn’t make him _ wrong. _ Good people are almost never right.

Good people get hurt. Dee’s seen it for himself. Countless times.

Not that the world is so good and bad, right and wrong. Dee always finds himself in the gray, grasping at straws trying to make sense of it, trying to find direction.

Control. That’s all Dee asks for. He wants to look out at the world and _ understand _ it, wants a say in what gets to hurt him. In _ who _ gets to hurt him.

That’s why the first thing Dee does when he steps back into the motel room, Remus still sound asleep on the dingy matress, is pull out the duffel bag shoved under the bed.

Moonlight leaks in from the thin curtains, reflecting off the plastic zipper as Dee tugs it open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Summary: Virgil accuses Dee of being “sick” after Dee steals and hides his phone, keeping him from contacting his friends. Dee insists he never hide the phone, but it’s in *bold* so we know he’s lying. The argument reaches its peak as Virgil tells Dee to leave the apartment.
> 
> 1.) In regards to Dee and Virgil’s argument/relationship: While this is a Sympathetic Deceit fic, the way Dee was treating Virgil was in no way healthy, nor do I condone it. Many of the things Dee said were tactics used by manipulators in unhealthy relationships to keep their partners co-dependant of them. Someone cutting their partner off from friends and family is a super big red flag, and should not be taken lightly. I’ve left a couple resources down at the bottom of these notes for anybody curious about these types of behaviors and want to learn more, along with a hotline if you fear you or someone you know might be in an unhealthy relationship.
> 
> 2.) In regards to Dee and Virgil’s relationship (again): Seeing as we view the argument from Dee’s angle, I try to make some sort of understanding to why Dee treats Virgil like this. Part of it is fear that he’ll lose Virgil, and has been taught that cruelty, manipulation, and lies is the only way to get and keep what he wants. He’s scared, and it gives him some semblance of control. That being said, none of that is an excuse for his actions, nor will anything ever excuse behaviors like those.
> 
> 3.) Sorry if this chapter felt a little slow, especially compared to the fast-passed action-packed strokes of the first one. I wanted to take the time to develop their relationship and dynamic before we started switching character perspectives (I got shit planned boys). Also, I realized rereading that their dynamic lost a lot of the sexual and romantic tensions from the first chapter. Don’t worry, shit'll start getting real soon.
> 
> 4.) Sorryx2 for this chapter taking longer than I thought it would. I actually wasn’t writing for a week and a half after the first one went up, because while I knew where I NEEDED to go, I didn’t know how to get there. I rewrote this fucking thing SO MANY TIMES. Suffice to say, while I’m not happy with how long it took, I am really happy with how it turned out (for the most part). Let’s just say the draft for this chapter was ///rough///, and involved a lot of needless trivia from my ninth grade world history class.
> 
> 4.5) DEMUS HAS A TAG NOW!! I don't know when that happened, but that's awesome. And Demus fics are piling up in general! Haven't had a chance to read through the new wave yet, hopefully they treat my bois well -w-
> 
> 5.) Thanks for all the Kudos and comments left on the last chapter!! You guys flatter me. I responded to every comment, even with just a simple “thank you,” just because it boggles my mind that someone would take the time to leave a comment on my writing. Also the interaction makes me feel like a person.
> 
> Manipulative Relationship Resources:  
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/communication-success/201407/how-recognize-and-handle-manipulative-relationships  
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/communication-success/201908/8-ways-gaslighters-manipulate-and-control-relationships
> 
> Hotline:  
(US and Canada: https://www.crisistextline.org/emotional  
(I only know the one for US and Canada, if anybody has some for other countries, leave it in the comments below and I’ll add them.)
> 
> Thats all! Thank you for reading. See you next chapter! (Hopefully this one won’t take so long.)


	3. Zero Pharaoh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Titles:  
Roman Stans Do Not Interact (you won’t like it)  
Remus? Scary? More Likely Than You Think...  
Hope You Brought A Light, Cause Shit Gets Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The title of this chapter and the lyrics used are from Zero Pharaoh by Everything Everything
> 
> Trigger warning: violence, vomit (the chapter gets pretty dark, so at this point I’m just going to bump up the rating and say I warned you)  
IMPORTANT: this entire chapter is one big flashback, but I refuse to put the entire thing in italics cause fuck that

[ They tell me there's a way to cheat death ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRhbHz4RWgQ)

[ And how you let him do what he wants ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRhbHz4RWgQ)

[ I bet you say he never does wrong ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRhbHz4RWgQ)

[ I don't know why you say it so much ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRhbHz4RWgQ)

*~*~*

  
  


There’s a figure standing in Roman’s yard.

It was the east yard, the one that opened up to the cliff that overlooked downtown. From where Roman stood in front of the window, white bathrobe tied securely around his waste and wine glass in hand, he could see the figure silhouetted clearly by the lights below. At first he had mistaken it for another hedge, but then he remembered that all his people-shaped hedges were in the _ west _yard.

So there the figure stood, framed by two lovely swans.

Roman felt as though he was being watched.

Setting down his wine, he swiftly yanked the heavy curtains shut, running his fingers down the silky material. He’d call the police in the morning. He was much to exhausted to be worrying about vandals right now.

Roman picked up his wine glass and turned on his heel in the same motion, walking briskly down the hallway. Idly, he passed paintings, still images of grandiose landscapes and magnificent portraits of even grander people; delicate swords hung in glass frames, polished as to show off every intricate detail of the finely crafted weaponry; several carefully carved doors, all leading to empty rooms.

All of Roman’s housekeepers were asleep hours ago.He’d taken up the habit of wandering the house late at night, when he was sure it was only him. The hours it ate into his beauty sleep was prominent, and no amount of make-up or facemasks could fix the way his face was beginning to droop.

Or maybe that was from all the frowning. If a man smiles in his hallway and no one sees it, had he even smiled at all?

“Of course,” Roman muttered to himself, answering a question nobody asked.

He felt like he was losing his mind.

*

The Academy Award for Best Actor stared off into the middle distance, indifferent to the way Roman watched it from under his covers. It sat proudly on the center of the mantle. When the fireplace was lit, it looked even more imposing, uplit and glowing.

The walls of the master bedroom, just like every wall of his grand mansion, was covered. But this room was void of swords or paintings - instead, framed posters and photos sat cozy on the walls.

All the posters were Disney, including the poster of the movie that got him that award.

He was the leading role in the first ever gay Disney movie. He played a gay prince, who fell in love with another man, and it happened, _ on screen. _ No subtext, no ifs, buts, or ors. They kissed. And people saw it. Millions saw it. And they loved it.

And, by extension, they loved Roman Kingsman.

He was reminded every day how much they loved him. Everytime he talked to his agent, “you’re a star, Roman! They love ya, stop worrin’!” Everytime he opened Twitter, it was brimming with support, with fans, with congratulations and thirsty remarks. Everytime he stepped outside.

Everybody loved Roman.

(There were people, of course, who didn’t. And not just because he was an openly gay man in the industry, famous for playing an openly gay leading role. But none of that hardly mattered, because none of that was the problem.)

Roman slowly slide out of bed, eyes fixed firmly on that award. His feet slide carefully, patiently into his slippers. Red slippers. They matched his pajamas. He didn’t know why, but that bothered him.

All it took was seven steps, and carefully he picked it up, weighing it in his grip.

It wasn’t nearly as heavy as it looked.

Roman wasn’t sure how long he stood there, examining the engraving of his name in gold. But it was long enough to notice, the faint, distant _ squelching _ sound.

That was the only way he thought to describe it. Roman was already very still, so he didn’t so much as freeze as his heart simple doubled it’s efforts. He listened closer. It was rhythmic, but passed periodically, leaving Roman behind in eerie silence before starting up again.

_ Smack. Squelch. Squelch. Smack. _

It was really fucking disturbing.

He slid the award back into its spot on the mantle.

Without overthinking it, Roman sidestepped to his bed, keeping his back to the corner of the room. With his foot he pulled out the katana that sat patiently beneath his mattress, quickly leaning down to pick it up.

And as he did so, there was movement in his periphery.

Roman’s sword swept cleanly through the air when he swung it in an arc at his side. He found himself facing thin curtains to the balcony. With the tip of his sword, he opened the curtains to find…

Nothing. It was dark, but Roman’s eyes had adjusted, and he saw nothing.

He sighed. Who knew how late it was? He needed sleep, he was getting a call tomorrow from his agent about some show deal that looked promising.

The katana dropped to the ground with a clatter, and Roman used his foot to push it back under the bed. Eyes heavy, he lifted the bed covers, climbing under them, and got cozy before rolling over on his side.

Roman paled.

Inches away, his own face stared back at him. Roman watched as his features contorted in a mad grin that did not mirror his own, eyes full of mirth.

“Boo!”

Roman _ screamed. _ An aesthetic scream, loud and shrill and full of panic and confusion. When directors would ask Roman to scream, they don’t ask him to scream like he’s frightened or in pain. They ask for _ confusion, _ for a desperate plea. To be afraid not because what’s happening is scary, but because he doesn’t know what will happen next.

He would’ve taken note of the way he was screaming with he wasn’t genuinely terrified.

Roman screamed and cried, scrambling backwards and falling hard out of bed, and then scrambled backwards even more, until his back hit the dresser. He scrambled around that too, using it to lift himself to his feet and cower against the wall.

His reflection screamed too, matching his cries with sharp crackles of laughter, following his movements. He crawled to the edge of the bed and perched on it, before jumping off with a heavy thud that echoed Roman’s own.

Roman kept screaming. _ He _ kept screaming. He did a little dance too, jumping high to _ thud thud thud _on the wood floor.

For an eternity they screamed, until Roman’s chest squeezed so tight he was afraid his lungs were going to burst.

“OKAY! OKAY, STOP!” Roman finally gasped, breathless, steadying himself on the side of the dresser.

“REMUS! SERIOUSLY,” Roman snapped, seriously concerned for the health of his hardwood floors.

And the man did stop. Roman’s twin, his twisted reflection, stopped finally stopped screaming. But he continued to laugh, winding down with guffaws, then giggles, then a wide smile.

“Roman!” Remus yells joyously, stepping towards Roman with his arms open.

“Don’t touch me, you, you cretinous convict!” Roman yells back as he steps around Remus, off the wall and into the center of the room.

Remus looks… well, identical to Roman, save for the streak of gray in his hair (which, Roman noted, was certainly new) and the offset glint in his eyes. And the moustache. You couldn’t forget the moustache.

He was wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, and without the makeup that Roman remembers him for, he almost looks… normal. Like any guy you’d pass on the street.

It was unsettling.

“Oh, come on now, is that any way to treat your dear brother?” Remus responds coyly, but puts his arms down. He keeps moving his way around the room, and Roman follows him slowly on a swivel from where he stands in the center. “Speaking of which, where’s the party? I can’t _ believe _ you’d miss an opportunity to strut that dramatic flair of yours, Royal Pain! Didn’t you get my memo?”

“You-- you’re memo?” Remus was throwing so much as him, Roman was struggling to respond. He choked on his own spit in his overwhelmed haste to push the words that began balling up in the back of his throat. “What that-- _ that was you? _”

Roman recalled when (a month ago? Maybe two?) his house received a package, unmarked with no return address. He was horrified to discover a starved, nearly dead rat inside. It smelled like piss and rot.

Nobody but family and his agents knew the address of his Florida home, so he had had no idea who sent it.

He should’ve known. How hadn’t he known?

“Ah, silly me! Forgot how stupid you are.” Remus leans forward dramatically, as if excusing something Roman can’t help. _ Rude. _ “I should’ve sent a letter! ‘Dearest Baby Brother,’” Remus mimicked writing with a scroll and pen as he marched circles around Roman. “‘How’s the last several years been? I’ve honestly lost track of them! It’s difficult to keep up when half the time you’re skull is so numb you can’t feel it being bashed into the wall, and the other half of the time everybody is so fucking LOUD, NOBODY EVER SHUTS THE FUCK UP!’”

Roman had no idea what Remus was saying, deciding dodging the sudden jerky lunge Remus made at him was more important than deciphering his screaming. 

The lunge turned out to be a fake, and Remus pulled back laughing.

Remus continued;“‘Not that mother told you, but apparently crazy has standards, because I got moved into a cage a while ago! Prison, not nearly as sexy as advertised. Only got my dick sucked like… once.

“‘Speaking of dick sucking, a saw your film! All of them, actually. Very inspirational roles. Very you. I hadn’t seem you act since we were kids. Big glow-up from the donkey you played in our church play. Did you know donkey dicks are--’”

“Okay, okay Remus I get it.” Having realized Remus would go on forever with this bit if given the chance, Roman had to shut him up. “Wrap it up.”

Remus pouted, hating being interrupted, but flicked his hands as if to renew the letter. “‘Dearest Brother, even though you’re a big meanie jerk with an ugly face--’”

“We have the same face!”

“‘--and the intelligence synonymous with the rat I sent in the box I pissed in--’”

“I FUCK KNEW IT.”

“‘--I’M COMING TO VISIT YOU, SO BE A GOOD HOST AND SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I TEAR OFF YOUR FINGERNAILS AND GIVE YOU A NEW SET OF TEETH!!”

By the time Remus was done yelling, he’d stopped walking, standing in front of the large in-room bathroom. He heaved a moment, before picking himself back up.

“”Love, your Dearest Twin Brother, Remus. _ Heart. _’” Remus mimicked signing the letter, folding it and putting it in an envelope, and throwing it at Roman.

Roman, unamused, did not catch it.

Remus wasn’t bothered by this, instead opening up the bathroom’s double doors and digging through Roman’s drawers.

Remus was silent as he began setting out things on the counter as he found them. Roman backed up towards his bed slowly, watching Remus carefully.

Remus closed the drawers, looking at himself in the mirror as he unscrewed containers and brought something up to his face.

He was… doing his makeup. 

“It really has been years, hasn’t it Prince _ Harm _ ing?” Roman froze when Remus started talking again, but he did not look at him. Roman kept shuffling backwards. “Do you remember when we were kids? Why, we played all the time! Hide and Seek, Cops and Robbers, Tag. But then we had _ our _ games. Do you remember them?”

Roman had buried the memories, all the memories of Remus, but he _ did. _ He remembered making swords and morning stars out of cardboard, leading himself and Remus into the large Canadian forest behind their house. They would pretend they were knights, or princes, or even kings, kicking up dirt as they fought werewolf-goblins and dragon-witches. They would set up stuffed animals in the yard, have weddings and murder trials, rewrite Disney movies and act them out.

“Of course I remember,” Roman scoffed. “But that doesn’t change what you did.”

“What _ I _ did?” Remus laughed, but he did not sound amused. Roman watched him smear purple eyeshadow around his eyes as he leans down, again grabbing the sword from beneath his bed. “Dearest brother, you must be joking, I’d _ hate _ to think you actually believed you were ever the hero in--”

But Remus hadn’t time to finish, interrupted by Roman’s sword thrusting into his abdomen.

Or, for a moment, Roman was positive that was what happened. But the sudden absence of the katana’s weight in his hand and the white-hot pain shooting up his leg proved him wrong.

Roman thought he couldn’t scream any longer. He was wrong.

Tears sprang to his eyes and he sobbed, tried to curl in on himself but Remus caught him by the shoulder, shushing him.

Remus twisted the blade in Roman’s foot, and he screamed again, but it quickly dissolved into pleas and he pushed weakly as Remus’ arms.

“Please, pleasepleaseplease Remus don’t do this stopplease--” tears fled down his cheeks, his voice punctuated by another sharp cry as Remus renched the sword in his foot in his effort to adjust Roman into a tighter embrace.

“Oh, so you’re allowed to stab at me, but the moment I return the favor I’m the villain?” Remus says lowly, almost whispered. “But that’s just how its always been, hasn’t it?”

Roman gasps when Remus pulls up the katana, a new wave of pain crawling up his leg as blood flows freely from the wound, wetting the ground.

Roman tries to push Remus away, but his grip on him is crushing, and Roman is weak. So instead he clings tighter, crying into Remus’ shoulder. “Pleaseplease Remus I’m sosorrydon’t…”

“I’m always the one to--” Remus stabs down again, and it’s too much, the pain shoots all the way up his leg and lands in his stomach. Bile rises in his throat and Roman vo mits over Remus’ shoulder, half of it soaking into Remus’ hoodie, the other half mingling with the blood on the floor. “--take it to far.” Remus pulled the sword out _ again-- _ “It was like that with the kids we bullied, you’d, you’d start it and push them but as soon as I started throwing rocks--” --and stabbed back in, with a good twist too-- “--and speaking of rocks, remember the birds? Remember how we’d throw rocks at the birds, Roman?”

Remus was yelling now, screaming in Remus ear, over Roman’s erratic heart. “We’d pretend we were archers! WIZARDS! But the day I actually got one, youyouyou told me I was fucking _ sick, _that I-I-I-I was…”

Remus kept talking, kept stabbing, in and out and in and out, but Roman could no longer hear it, no longer feel it. He simple watched the blood as it slowly crept along the hardwood floors. Farther and farther the blood ran from Remus. From both of them.

With a gentle push Remus released Roman, and he swayed a moment before falling backwards, landing hard on his back. The fog that befell his head cleared quickly as he got a good look at his foot.

It was mangled. Barely recognizable as anything but flesh and blood.

Pain, pain and Roman was puking again, coughing and sputtered as he tried to crawl away from Remus, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

“Please,” Roman wheezed, pleaded, begged, looking up at Remus, “please don’t kill me.”

“Oh, dearest brother,” the katana falls to the ground with a clatter when Remus throws it across the room. He looks down at Roman, illuminated only by the moonlight filtered threw the thin curtains to the balcony, reflecting off his cruel eyes.

“I am not going to kill you.” He does not smile.

“I’m going to fucking _ destroy _ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) As mentioned in the start notes, Creativity Twins flashback got so long I had to make it it’s own chapter. This entire chapter takes place before Remus and Dee’s road-trip. Originally I was going to splice in the flashback with italics between a different story thread, but decided to separate the two because it was getting WAY to long and all the italics hurt my brain. The other story thread will be followed next chapter.
> 
> 2.) Finally caved and just decided to bump the rating up to a Mature, realizing that violence and unsavory relationship dynamics will be harder and harder to avoid for more sensitive readers. I’ll also put in tags for those things, so I can remove trigger warnings in the notes.
> 
> 3.) Speaking of unsavory relationship dynamics, I’m really pushing what defines “sympathetic,” huh? A part of me wants to see how far I can push that line. I guess it’s becoming a bit of a theme.
> 
> 4.) Hey! That update was pretty quick. A next update probably won’t be as fast, but it’ll be pretty soon… maybe.
> 
> That’s it! Thank you so much for reading!! See you next chapter.


End file.
